Red camellias
by miw
Summary: Why, just why Antonio had to die?


Heh, typo. After I had written this story and put it to dA I realized that "carmelia" probably isn't a flower. XD It's camellia, right? Bwah. I don't care, now carmelia is really pretty red flower. Amen.

* * *

When I, Lovino Vargas, were a child, and I were left all alone, it was Antonio, and only Antonio, who told me not to cry. Now when Antonio isn't here to tell me not to cry, no one isn't going to tell me it. They tell me "It's okay to cry Lovino, Antonio loved you, right?". Right. They don't know a shit about me, or my relationship with Antonio. No. It wasn't just Antonio who was affectionate. It wasn't just all about Antonio in our relationship. I cared too. And Antonio knew it. But now.. there's no more Antonio, or the relationship.

Why, you ask? Why, why, _why_! That's the question I've been asking since Antonio died! Why? WHY. Do you know why? Does anyone know why? Why doesn't anybody know? Doesn't anybody know why? Why Antonio?

I can't think about anything else. It's just the big question why. I know how he died. But I'd rather not to talk about it... It gots me depressed. But why he died.

But when you think about it; life isn't ever fair to anyone. And I really can say that. Because I know it.

When I memorize mine and Antonio's past.. I remember it as a rocky trip, but what had very happy moments in the way. And now when Antonio is not here to make the happy and not so happy moments with me, I remember all of our moments together as a happy moments. Because he was with me when they happened. I shared them with him. All tears and laughter. He was a part of me and my life.

After his dead and funeral I continued living in our house. It was so empty and lacked of life, and happiness, and color. It was cold and grey. Like ash. Not home. The spirit of home went to grave with Antonio's spirit.

After a month of living alone in the house I had been living almost my whole life with Antonio, I was almost mad. All my memories where there. I didn't want to let go. Even though I knew I eventually had to.

Feliciano tried to pull me away from my memories. I was angry. He said that Antonio was in peace now. I knew he wasn't. I heard his voice in the walls and furniture. His voice told the stories of our past. Just by looking at some furniture or a room brought so much memories and feelings in my mind.

Feliciano didn't know it. He didn't have the same feelings than me. He absolutely couldn't know how I felt! How he even dared to say it.

But one day I left the house and went back to Italy. I didn't apologize Feliciano. I was just silent. It maybe looked like I was deep in thought, but I wasn't. I didn't think anything. The realization of Antonio's dead had long since passed my body. Now I was paralyzed. He was gone. I was alone.

But soon the questions came back. Were there better where Antonio was? Was he really in peace? Should I... go after him? Would a suicide do it?

...

I would be together with him again!

Feliciano didn't like the idea when I told him about the suicide. In fact, he was shocked. He was about to call a doctor, but I told him not to. I was alright. He was relieved, because for a little moment he had thought that I was insane.

After half a year I went to Antonio's grave to bring him flowers. Red carmelia's. He had liked them. And I brought him a tomate too.

A grave... It was so wrong place for Antonio. It didn't suit him at all! Then I got an idea. I could dig him up and bring him home with me.

But again, Feliciano came and stopped me when I had started to dig my way back to Antonio's arms.

All I did was sit alone, alone, in my room and lie on my bed. Sometimes I slept, sometimes I cried. I would think that I had been used to all that pain. But I wasn't. Life was like it was.

Now the time has passed by. Antonio died ten years ago. Life is back at normal. Almost. There just isn't Antonio anymore. And that makes all so different.

But now I'm almost used to it that Antonio doesn't wake me up, Feliciano does. Antonio doesn't cook his delicious Spanish dishes, Feliciano cooks his pasta. There's no Antonio to lean when the life kicks. I'm almost used to it. Sometimes I still forget.

But sooner or later, I'm living like there even wasn't Antonio and his smile. And what the fuck I am crying for? Antonio was only a stupid bastard, who was oblivious and couldn't read the atmosphere. Dying suits him well.

That's what I try to feed for myself.

* * *

Like everyone else, I like reviews. 8D


End file.
